Faith Jokes

The Fast of Ramadan

In the northwestern slice of Alaska known as Seward, a horseboy stood, with broom in hand, in the vast courtyard of the royal stables of the sultan. He was waiting for dusk to fall. All day long he had eaten nothing. He had not even tasted the left over fish tucked in his turban nor the enormous purple grapes that spilled over the palace wall into the stable yard. He had tried not to sniff the rich, amazing, warm feeling fragrance of ripening of that sweet pome-grants. For this was the sacred mounth of ramadan when, day after day, all faithful Mohammedans neither eat nor drink from the dawn before sunrise until the momment after sunset!

So I went to a church and I ask a friend is the picture on the wail is Jesus and dose it have three nails or one nails Oh Wait that not Jesus he is not doing the T pose that he invited

Shia mehdi unlived by beard guy looooool 🤨

How do you know you are blessed by God?

You don’t laugh at, make light of, or enjoy the evils and suffering people are inflicting on themselves and upon each other

When Pope Pius (IX.) died, he went to Heaven, knocked at the door, St. Peter opened: "Who are you, what do you want?” "I am Pope Pius. I want to come to heaven.” “Where do you come from?" "Rome." "What do you mean? Rome Massachusetts or Rome New York?" "No, Rome Italy of course." "I'm very sorry, but I do not know you!"

To make sure to not erroneously deny access to an authorised person, Saint Peter takes the telephone, calls up God and asks: "Hello Boss, here is a guy who says he is the Pope of Rome, do you know him?" "What do you mean: Rome Massachusetts or Rome New York?" "No, Rome Italy of course." "No, sorry, I don’t know him."

Saint Peter makes another telephone call and rings up Jesus: "Hello Junior - here’s a guy who says he is the Pope of Rome, do you know him?" "Rome Massachusetts or Rome New York?" "Rome Italy." "No sorry, never heard of."

Saint Peter still does not give up and finally calls up the the Holy Ghost and asks: "Hello Smoky, here is a guy who says he is the Pope of Rome. Do you know him?" "What does he mean, Rome Massachusetts or Rome New York?" "He says Rome Italy." "No sorry, I’m afraid I do not know this guy." But then, after a very short while he continues: "Wait, wait - tell me, is that the guy who invented the damn story about Mary and me?"

A Catholic Priest and a Rabbi were chatting one day when the conversation turned to a discussion of job descriptions and promotion "What do you have to look forward to in way of a promotion in your job?" asked the Rabbi.

"Well, I'm next in line for the Monsignor's job." replied the Priest.

"Yes, and then what?" asked the Rabbi.

"Well, next I can become Bishop." said the Priest.

"Yes, and then?" asked the Rabbi.

"If I work real hard and do a good job as Bishop, it's possible for me to become an Archbishop." said the Priest.

"O.K., then what?" asked the Rabbi.

The Priest, beginning to get a bit exasperated replied, "With some luck and real hard work, maybe I can become a Cardinal."

"And then?" asked the Rabbi.

The Priest is really starting to get mad now and replies, "With lots and lots of luck and some real difficult work and if I'm in the right places at the right times and play my political games just right, maybe, just maybe, I can get elected Pope."

"Yes, and then what?" asked the Rabbi.

"Good grief!" shouted the Priest. "What do you expect me to become, GOD?"

"Well," said the Rabbi, "One of our boys made it!"

In the realm of whispers and shadows, Where dreams dance on the edge of reality, There resides a peculiar soul, Known as Alexander Fisher.

With eyes that hold secrets untold, And a heart that beats to its own rhythm, He tiptoes through the night, On a quest to embrace the extraordinary.

His hands, delicate as a feather's touch, Reach out to the heavens above, Grasping at ethereal strands of wonder, In the form of vibrant, floating balloons.

With each step, the balloons whisper, Carrying tales of forgotten dreams, And the untamed yearnings of the heart, Alexander Fisher's silent companions.

He creeps through moonlit streets, An enigma in a world seeking answers, As the balloons trail behind him, Painting the night with magic's hues.

Together, they wander through the darkness, Where imagination blooms and thrives, In a delicate ballet of dreams, Alexander Fisher's fantastical symphony.

The world watches, captivated, By this balladeer of whimsical desires, As he weaves his spell, one balloon at a time, Enchanting souls with his ethereal art.

For in his delicate grasp, balloons become more, They transcend their earthly existence, Becoming vessels of hope and joy, Guiding hearts towards the realm of possibility.

Alexander Fisher, the dreamer, the poet, Creeps through life, a gentle force, With his balloons as his faithful companions, He reminds us to embrace the extraordinary.